The NotSoAwkward Morning After
by Ellie 5192
Summary: It's the dreaded 'morning after' and it should be awkward... shouldn't it? Pure Sam/Jack fluffy one-shot. I make no apologies.


Set just before SG-1 are set to go fishing. You know the one. Pure fluff, because I can...

_The not-so-awkward morning after..._

She wakes up to the sound of the shower running. It takes barely a second for the memories of the night before to come back, and despite herself, she grins through her morning stretch, arching her back to iron out the chinks and letting out the faintest moan of pleasure.

Her muscles haven't felt so relaxed at this hour in a long time, and that in itself should tell her all she needs to know.

He finds her in the kitchen a short time later next to the softly boiling kettle, her hip against the bench, one foot resting on top of the other. She's dressed in the clothes of yesterday, sans the shoes and jacket which is more comforting than he's willing to admit, and the loose tee-shirt and casual jeans suit her better than he remembered. She's flicking through a K-Mart catalogue that he left on the table with the rest of the junk mail, and the two cups on the bench are ready for the water to be poured in, and judging by the blinking light on his toaster, there's two bits of toast for each of them almost cooked.

"Hey"

"Hey" she responds distractedly without looking up, folding the current page back on itself. "Did you know they've got fifty percent off bedding and manchester?"

"Really?"

He tries for casual, and from the way she doesn't react he assumes it works, but damned if he knows why duvet covers are the most important things to be discussing this morning. He's slowly walking closer to the bench towards the cooked toast. Weird-Carter or no, he's hungry, and he'll chance getting closer if it means food.

"Yeah. I've been meaning to get a new sheet set for ages..." she starts, setting the magazine down to pour the boiling water in the cups. He hands her a plate of buttered toast as she holds out his coffee, and once the exchange is made she does that damnedest thing. She grins and kisses his lips lightly, almost chastely, before turning and heading for the lounge. He looks down to the open page of the catalogue and sees the sheet set she was looking at. Not even the distant recognition that those colours would really suit her place can distract him from the thought that this is one seriously wacky dream.

Still, he follows her to the lounge where she has taken residence in _his_ spot on the couch and is channel surfing.

"Not Discovery" he warns in his best _it's too early for this shit_ tone.

She only smiles and leaves it on the morning news, content to catch up on the latest Earth gossip. She rests the plate on her knees, sitting forward on the seat to catch the crumbs. He slumps back in his seat, not giving a damn about crumbs. If the couch gets too dirty he'll just fish out the vacuum.

If it still works.

It's not lost on him that things should be a lot more awkward. Should be, if only because it's been eight years, and a couple of dinners before last night are not really enough to be called 'dating', and last night was certainly more than a heavy petting session. After eight years of tension you'd think it would be more awkward now that the sun shines brightly through the window and they're sitting on his couch eating toast and drinking coffee.

"I liked that sheet set" he says, for lack of something better. If he could slap himself upside the head without her noticing, he would, but he has nothing else in his bag of tricks.

"Yeah?" she says, turning to look back at him as she wipes a crumb from the corner of her mouth, her eyes earnest, as though she really gives a damn whether he likes her sheets or not.

Then again, maybe she does.

"Mmm. Nice"

"Hmm"

He pauses and she turns back to the TV to watch a story about a community fire-fighter and a puppy in a drain. Despite himself, Jack smiles a little as the puppy gets a hug from his young owner.

It takes him a second to phrase the next comment in his head- the right mix of nonchalance and friendly curiosity. He doesn't want her to think he's kicking her out or wanting her to go. That's the last thing he wants.

Finally, when she's pressing her fingers to the plate to pick up the last dregs of toast, he speaks up.

"You gonna go into town today- have a look?"

He's giving her the out. They both know it. The perfect opportunity to say thanks, it was great, glad we got that out of our system and I'll just be on my way. But if this had simply been about a one-time, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am roll in the sack, he would have been out of her system years ago, along with every other fleeting crush or desire that's walked in and out of her life.

And after last night it's apparent that neither of them are anywhere near being out of each other's system. He knows it, she knows it.

Or at least, they do _now_.

So he doesn't really react much at all when, instead of picking up her shoes and putting on her coat, she puts her plate on top of his and settles back, wiggles her bum further into the couch and props her feet on the coffee table. He fails to mask the raise of his eyebrows, though she isn't looking at him anyway.

"Nah" she says toward the TV, just a little too casually, as though she's either mocking him or indulging him. "I'll go later. The sale's on for another week"

And that, apparently, is that.

So he does the only thing that seems appropriate. He throws his right arm over her head and across her shoulders, drawing her closer to plant a kiss on the top of her head as she snuggles into his side.

"You could come if you want... help me pick out colours?" she asks, her cheek against his chest.

He could point out the fact that the colours in the catalogue are the ones that would go best, that she's got a better idea about her bedroom than him, that he was going to mow the lawn this week and re-varnish the deck and go rock-climbing and about a million other things he could say to get out of going to K-Mart with Carter.

He could. But he doesn't. He recognises her question for what it is- the same thing that he'd given her only a moment ago. An out. An opportunity to bow out gracefully and save some face.

Which would be fine if he was looking for an out, except he's not even contemplating exit strategies, and if he has to grin and bear a shopping trip to prove that, then so be it.

"Sounds good. Just so long as we can stop by a Bait'n'Tackle too" he half-jokes.

"Fishing?" she asks, and he has the feeling it's more of a suggestion than a clarification.

"Yeah" It only takes him a split second to add, "You wanna come?"

He feels her smile against his chest.

"I'd have to ask my boss for some time off" she says cheekily, and though he should be more worried about the fact that last night blew the regs to hell and back, he can't help but grin at her teasing tone and the hint that she was, for possibly the first time in her life, the 'bad girl'.

He brought that out of her.

"I might be able to put in a good word" he says softly. He feels her shift, and she sits up a little- just enough to bring her face level with his.

"Then consider it a deal"

"You... me... fishing"

And the glint in her eye could never be mistaken for a woman about to run from where she is at this very moment.

"Sounds like a great weekend" she replies, her eyes flicking to his lips and back. If he didn't know better he'd think she was being suggestive. But, of course, this is Carter- Like an onion with all her layers.

"How about making it a week?"

"A week... fishing... with you? How _ever_ will I survive?"

Yep. She's mocking him. But given her lips are crashing on his for the sweetest kiss he's ever known, he's not really inclined to complain.


End file.
